"
He looked round and espied a chair, which he brought up close to the bed.
Rosie was far too excited and shy to speak.
"What's your name?" he began. "Mine is Timothy Godfrey Radmore Tosswill."
The little girl whispered "Rosamund."
"I've got a sister called Rosamund; now, isn't that curious?" cried
Timmy.
He had already seized the scissors, and was engaged in cutting out some
quaint, fantastic looking little figures.
After the others had left the room, Rosamund's mother turned to Betty. "I
never saw such a nice, kind, young gentleman!" she exclaimed. "He fair
took my breath away--a regular little doctor he'd make."
* * * * *
Houses are like people--they have their day, their hour, even, one feels
inclined to add, their moods of sadness and of joy, of brightness and of
dulness.
To-day the white Corinthian-looking building called Doryford House was at
its best, in the soft lambent light of an autumn day. For a moment, when
the long, pillared building first came into view, Radmore had felt a
thrill of unreasonable disappointment. He had hoped, somehow, for a
red-brick manor-house--a kind of glorified Old Place.
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